


A Bad Time of Year

by Bluewolf458



Series: A Bad Time of Year [1]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: AU, Gen, Sentinel Bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-07 19:54:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14088459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluewolf458/pseuds/Bluewolf458
Summary: Daryl, studying law and anthropology at Rainier, has done very badly in a paper. Jim, at the PD, discovers that Simon's wife is very ill and goes to Rainier to see Dr. Sandburg, to explain why Daryl has done so badly.





	A Bad Time of Year

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2018 Sentinel Bingo prompt 'character in distress'
> 
> There will be a second part to this.

A Bad Time of Year

by Bluewolf

Dr. Blair Sandburg sighed as he reread the essay he was trying to grade. It was making as little sense the second time as it had on the first reading. (He had long had the habit of reading through an essay, then grading it on a second read-through.) But this one...

He put it down and frowned thoughtfully. Daryl Banks was an intelligent and conscientious student. Granted he was taking anthropology as a minor - his major was law and law enforcement - Rainier was well-known for having an excellent law department. The boy's stated reason for taking anthropology was to provide him with insights into the way minorities thought, and Blair fully appreciated Daryl's realization that people reared in one culture might not totally understand the ethics of a different one. Of course, although born and reared in Cascade, in a 'white' culture, with parents also born and reared in that culture, Daryl's several times great grandparents would have arrived in America as slaves and he was bound to have some knowledge of that - and also of the way people of color were, even in this modern age, regarded by a lot of people. Color prejudice - and religious prejudice - were, unfortunately, alive and flourishing over so much of the world...

In his youth, Blair had traveled widely with his 'citizen of the world' mother, and he was totally color-blind when it came to people; in addition, he had seen so much of different religions that he considered himself 'polytheistic', believing that all religions were right for the people who held them. If pushed, he admitted to himself that to him the ancient 'earth mother' religion made most sense, since the Earth provided for the needs of its people.

He sighed again and turned his attention to a third reading of nineteen-year-old Daryl's 'essay'. Finally he put it aside and picked up the next one in the pile of still-to-be-graded papers, glad that only a few - that he had deliberately slotted to be done last - were left... the ones he had selected as the ones that would be easiest to grade. Those had included Daryl's, and as he began to read the next one, he wondered again what had gone wrong with Daryl's.

***

"What's wrong?" Detective Jim Ellison, having taken his report on the case he had just closed to his Captain, looked searchingly across the desk at his superior before taking an appreciative mouthful of Simon Banks' excellent coffee.

Simon frowned. "What makes you think anything's wrong?" he asked.

Jim looked at him. "Body language," he said. "You're tense, as if something is worrying you."

Simon slumped in his seat. "Something's seriously wrong with Joan," he muttered.

Jim waited silently, but there was an encouraging look in his eye.

"She's going for surgery later this morning... but the doctor isn't optimistic."

"Oh, Simon!"

"And Daryl... He had an important paper to write for his anthropology professor and he's pretty sure he's made a complete mess of it."

"Well, I can't help with Joan," Jim said, "but I can go and have a word with this professor and persuade him to go easy on Daryl. What is wrong with Joan anyway?"

"Cancer," Simon muttered. "She only went to the doctor, saying she felt below par, about a month ago. She's had a lot of tests since then. They decided to operate just two or three days ago. And as I said... the doctor isn't optimistic."

"Does Daryl know that?"

"Yes. We tried to keep it from him, but he found out somehow - I don't know how."

"Okay. What's this professor's name?"

"Dr. Sandburg."

"Right. I'll go now and see if I can catch him. And you - call Joel in, get him to take over and get off to the hospital!"

He spared a moment to finish his coffee, then as he left the bullpen, Jim sighed. He felt heart sorry for Simon - his Captain was devoted to his wife and son, and would be devastated if - when - Joan died. And if the doctor wasn't optimistic... this close to Christmas was a bad, bad time for her to die. It would permanently ruin the holiday season for both Simon and Daryl. Jim understood that too, too well, for it was in early December that his mother walked out, never to be seen by her sons again.

***

Having finished all the other papers, Blair picked up Daryl's and began to read it again. Halfway through, he shook his head. He was going to have to speak to Daryl about it, and he was far from sure what to say. He was pretty sure that something had to have been worrying Daryl - or maybe he had just had a severe headache, one that didn't allow him to think clearly, when he was writing it. But even so, this was so incoherent it barely made sense.

There was a brisk knock on the door, it opened and a tall man entered. The man looked at him, a touch of surprise in his eyes. "Dr. Sandburg?"

"Yes."

"Detective Ellison, Cascade PD. I'm here about Daryl Banks."

"Is he in trouble? I wouldn't have thought it of him."

"No. His father is my Captain, and... well, I suggested I come to see you about Daryl."

"Oh, sit down!" Blair exclaimed, waving to the seat in front of his desk, glad that he now had a proper office rather than the cramped storage room he had used when he was still a lowly TA. He no longer had to use chairs as shelves. "Now - " as his visitor sat - "what about Daryl?"

"I understand he had a paper to hand in a day or two ago?"

Blair glanced down at the paper in front of him, desperately trying to think of something positive he could say about it.

"Captain Banks said Daryl was pretty sure he'd made a total mess of it."

Blair raised his eyes to his visitor. "Yes - he did. It's so much below the quality of the work he usually does... I was wondering if maybe he was feeling below par when he did it - maybe had a severe headache."

"If it were as simple as that... No, Captain Banks was looking very hangdog this morning, and I bullied him into admitting that his wife is very ill. But the doctor isn't holding out much hope."

"They tried to keep it from Daryl?"

"They couldn't hide that she was ill, but they tried to keep just how bad it was from him; and somehow Daryl found out."

"Not a good idea. Daryl's old enough to have been told," Blair said.

"I tend to agree with you. I suspect it was Joan who wanted him kept in the dark - she's always had a tendency to be over-protective.

"Anyway, Doctor - that essay - it's not Daryl's fault he made such a mess of it."

"Yes, I can appreciate that." Blair sighed. "His general work is so good that one bad paper isn't going to affect his over all marks too badly, but I'm glad you let me know the problem."

"I'd guess it'll affect Daryl's work for a while." Jim didn't want to minimize the problem.

Blair sighed again. "One of those cases where it's kinder on everyone if she dies quickly?"

"Probably," Jim said. "And a helluva bad time of year for it, too, if she does." He was silent for a moment before saying, "I can't imagine what his parents were thinking. Did they - did his mother - really think that her sudden death would be less stressful on him? It could leave him in a position of not having had a chance to say goodbye... and I suspect that would be far, far worse for him than living with the knowledge that her days were numbered."

"A bad time of year for it? Is there ever a good time of year to lose someone?" Blair asked. "But I do know what you mean." He thought for a moment. "I was going to call him in, ask him about it... but now that I know the problem... "

"Apparently they're operating today - probably about now. Daryl's father... I told him to take off for the hospital, wait there for word - he wasn't doing anyone any good just sitting around in his office worrying."

"I take it - " Blair's comment was cut off by an ear-shattering clatter outside the door.

Blair made a dive for the door and jerked it open. A student was lying half on top of a shattered piece of equipment that Blair thought was probably a projector; the lead was wrapped around the youngster's foot. As Blair knelt beside the fallen student, a door further along the corridor opened and another professor came out. "Blair? What happened?"

"I think he was carrying this carelessly and tripped over the lead. If you stay with him I'll call for an ambulance." Blair knew that Stacey Grant had a more advanced first aid qualification than he did.

"Right."

Blair headed back into his office, wondering why the detective hadn't joined him. He soon saw why.

Ellison was sitting huddled in the visitor's chair, his hands clasped over his ears, even although it was at least two minutes since the clatter of the destroyed projector broke the silence. Well, he could deal with Ellison in a minute. He grabbed the phone, and dialed 911.

With the call made, and the operator's assurance that an ambulance would be there in a few minutes, Blair touched Ellison's arm. The detective looked up at him without removing his hands from his ears.

"You all right?" Blair asked.

Ellison hesitated, then took his hands from his ears. Blair repeated, "Are you all right?"

"What the hell was that noise?"

Blair looked at him. Sure, the noise as the projector crashed to the ground had been pretty loud, but not as deafeningly loud as Ellison seemed to have found it. "A student was carrying some electronic equipment and tripped over the lead - there's someone else with him but I'd better get back out there. I'll be back in a few minutes."

Ellison nodded. "Go."

Blair hurried back out. "Ambulance is on its way. Have you checked him?"

"As best I could - I don't think it's wise to try moving him," Stacey said. "The way he's lying on top of... it's a projector, isn't it? - I think he might have spinal damage, and almost certainly internal injuries."

They waited in silence for the few minutes it took for the EMTs to arrive; then Blair said quietly, "I've got a visitor about one of my students - OK to leave things with you, Stacey?"

"Yes. I'll go to the hospital with him, if you can spare another minute to see about getting the corridor cleared?"

"Yes... Any idea what department he's in?"

She shook her head.

"OK, I'll try to find that out too."

As Blair was turning to re-enter his office, a student appeared at the end of the corridor, hesitated for a moment then began running towards them. "Paul?"

"I'll deal with this," Blair said.

Having immobilized the unconscious student, the EMTs were lifting him carefully onto a stretcher, and Stacey followed as they carried him away.

"In here," Blair said and led the newcomer into his office. "Right - detective, I'll be back with you in a minute, but an accident to a student... "

"I understand."

"Right, Mr.?" He grabbed a notebook and pencil.

"Oh - Morry Adams."

"And Paul?"

"Paul Ventnor."

Blair scribbled that down. "Your department?"

"Biology."

"And your lecturer today?"

"He's a TA - Mr. Gervaise."

Blair nodded to himself as he wrote that down too. He'd met Abe Gervaise once or twice when he was himself still a TA, just before he got his PhD, and knew him to be a lecturer who leaned very heavily on visual teaching to supplement verbal. Of course, given his subject, that was probably necessity rather than choice. A picture of an animal or plant was usually more descriptive than a thousand words.

"So what was Mr. Ventnor doing?"

"The projector Mr. Gervaise had set up for the lecture wasn't working, so he sent Paul to get another one. When Paul didn't come back, he sent me to find out what the delay was."

"Would Mr. Ventnor just have picked up a projector from the store, or would there have been someone there to issue him with one?"

"I'm not sure. Sometimes there's an attendant in the store, sometimes there isn't. If there isn't, we just sign a book to say what we've taken."

Blair nodded to himself. He'd never made much use of Rainier's audio-visual equipment, leaning more on artifacts or tapes he had made of tribal music, when he had used his own tape recorder, but that sounded about right for the odd occasion when he had wanted to show photographs or a short film.

"All right. As far as we can tell, Mr. Ventnor tripped on the projector cable and fell, knocking himself unconscious. Professor Grant has gone to the hospital with him. All right, take the broken projector back to the store; if there's a storeman there, tell him what happened. If there isn't, leave the projector, mark in the book what happened, go back to your class, tell Mr. Gervaise and let him take it from there."

"Yes, sir." The student left and moment later Blair heard his footsteps getting fainter as he headed down the corridor.

He turned back to Detective Ellison. "Sorry about that, Detective."

"Part of your job, I suppose," Jim said.

"Yes. This was a really freak accident, and I just hope Gervaise doesn't get into too much trouble because of it. It can be difficult for a TA - if a lecturer needs some equipment he should see about it himself, but he's not supposed to leave a class unsupervised. But where a professor might have an assistant in the room with him, a TA doesn't. So in a case like this, where the equipment he needs breaks down while he's using it... "

"Damned if he does, damned if he doesn't," Jim said.

"If there was a storeman on duty, he should have made sure the projector cable was safely tucked up and out of the way. But if young Ventnor just picked one up himself he was maybe a little careless...

"Anyway, it's out of my hands. I've got the facts as I know them for the Chancellor's inevitable enquiry. Meanwhile - "

"Yes; Daryl. I'm going to suggest that his father keeps him at home until they know what's going to happen about Joan - his mother. Certainly until after Christmas. Will that affect anything he would be doing in class?"

"No, that paper was the last important thing before Christmas, and I'll give him the chance to redo it. And I can let his other lecturers know."

Jim nodded. "That'll be good of you. From what his father said, Daryl was really worried about this paper, but didn't have anything else important to hand in this side of the holidays." He stood.

"Hold on a second, detective," Blair said. "I wanted to ask you... " He hesitated, then went on. "That clatter when Ventnor fell... it was loud, but you seemed to find it pretty deafening?"

"It... it took me by surprise, that's all."

"To the point where you still had your hands over your ears two or three minutes later?"

Jim flushed slightly, and Blair nodded to himself. "You're got pretty acute hearing, don't you? And you're a bit... well... sensitive about it? Sorry, that was a really bad pun."

"My father always said... said... " Jim stumbled into silence.

"Did he say being deaf was unnatural, too?" Blair asked.

"Not in so many words, but he implied it."

Blair looked thoughtfully at him. "Is it only your hearing, or are your other senses better than most people's?" His voice was very sympathetic.

"All of them," Jim mumbled, so softly that Blair barely heard him.

It was very clear to Blair that his visitor was desperately ashamed of - well, being different. "That... " He had no need to force admiration into his voice. "That's incredible. You have no idea how much people with your abilities were valued - are valued - in some parts of the world."

Jim stared at him. "Valued? Sandburg, all my life I've had to hide what a freak I am!"

Blair turned to the shelf where he kept his most valued books, and pulled one from it. He handed it to Jim, who looked at it, then back at Blair, incomprehension in his eyes. "The Sentinels of Paraguay?"

"That was written in 1866 by Richard Burton, a Victorian traveler, explorer, semi-politician. Most of his travels were in Muslim countries, but he spent some years in South America and while he was there he visited some native tribes, and discovered that a lot of their villages had a man - never more than one at any given time - with senses that were more acute that anyone else's. The villages called them watchmen or guardians, though Burton chose to call them 'sentinels'. Villages that had a sentinel invariably did better than villages that didn't have one. A sentinel often worked with the tribe's shaman. He also went out with the hunters, and directed them to where there was game; he could tell when the weather was going to change. He knew if a chance-found carcass was edible, or if it had been dead too long.

"I found this book... oh, fifteen or sixteen years ago, and the subject fascinated me - but although I searched I could never find anyone with five heightened senses. The best I found were people working as tea or coffee blenders - people with an acute sense of smell or taste - or both. But I was sure that somewhere there still had to be a few people with all their senses heightened.

"Detective, if you allowed yourself to use your senses, they could be a lot of help to you in finding evidence that would help solve crimes - though I do realize it would have to be something that would hold up in court, and you couldn't afford to let people know you had that edge. If the bad guys knew... "

Jim looked at Blair, saw the assurance in his eyes, and opened the book. He turned one or two pages and stopped when he came to an illustration; his jaw dropped slightly as he looked at it.

"You can borrow it if you want," Blair said. "I imagine you need to get back to work now you've let me know the situation with Daryl."

"Yes... I should," Jim admitted.

"Oh - there is just one thing. Do you sometimes find that you - well, lose time? You hear something, or you're watching something, and you sort of lose touch of your surroundings?"

"Once or twice," Jim admitted.

"That's linked to the heightened senses," Blair said. "It can happen to anyone - you're concentrating on something and forget your surroundings. But with a sentinel that's heightened too... or maybe I should say lengthened. If you use your senses, you should try to use two different ones at the same time. That should help keep your mind aware of where it is."

"I'll bring your book back in a day or two," Jim promised. "And if you need it before I do, you can always get me at the PD, Major Crime."

***

However, Blair's next contact with Detective Ellison was mid-afternoon the same day, when he got a phone call.

"Professor? Detective Ellison. Daryl's mother died on the operating table. From what the surgeon told Captain Banks, her body was riddled with cancer. It was his guess that she'd been in pretty severe pain for quite a long time, but had been able to hide it until recently. She was very protective of Daryl - now I wonder if she was protective of her husband as well."

"Or maybe in denial? Refusing to admit, even to herself, that there was anything seriously wrong?"

"Could be. Anyway, Daryl is in class at the moment - Dr. Zamora. Could I impose on you to... well, let Daryl know? His father is totally tied up at the hospital, and you probably know Daryl better than I do."

"Will do. I can easily cancel office hours for the day, keep Daryl in my office. Let his father know where he is, and he can either pick Daryl up from here when he's free, or I could take Daryl home, again when his father is free."

"I'll let Simon know. Thanks."

Blair hung up and put the phone down. He took a deep breath, readying himself for what would be a difficult meeting, and left his office.

He explained the situation quietly to Dr. Zamora, who called Daryl out and told him to go with Dr. Sandburg, then he led Daryl back to his office.

***

Daryl was silent until they were in the office and Blair pointed him to the visitors' chair. Then he said quietly, "If it's about that paper... I know I made a mess of it."

"No, Daryl. As soon as I saw it I knew something was worrying you."

"Mom. She's really ill, but they didn't tell me how ill... but I asked one of the nurses... "

"It's worse than that, Daryl. I'm sorry. Did you know they were operating on her this morning?"

Daryl shook his head.

"The doctor told your Dad he wasn't holding out much hope, and... I'm sorry, he was right. Your Mom died during the operation."

"No!" It was a wail of anguish.

Blair gathered Daryl into his arms. "I know, they should have told you just how ill she was."

Daryl was silent for a moment, and Blair knew that he was desperately trying not to cry. Finally, Daryl murmured, so quietly that Blair barely heard him, "I think Dad would have told me... but Mom could never really accept that I'm not a child any longer."

"Maybe it would have been different for you if you'd had a younger sibling," Blair said.

"Maybe."

"While my Mom... Do you remember the lecture I gave - oh, more than a year ago - about cultures that regarded five years old as the point where a child stopped being a child?"

"Yes. We all thought that seemed terribly young."

"My Mom had lived with those cultures, and stopped thinking of me as a child when I was five. I did understand, but Mom left me with my grandmother some of the time, and she didn't treat me as being all grown up after I was five. My Mom wanted freedom to travel, with a son who was able to take on adult responsibilities at a very young age. Yours wanted a child who was dependent on her, that she could protect. It probably made her feel... I dunno, useful? Responsible? because your Dad is a cop?"

Daryl sniffed. "Maybe, but..."

"But?" Blair asked gently.

"I won't be able to tell Dad, but... "

"Go on."

"Will you think it's really bad if I tell you that... that I loved her, but I didn't really like her very much?"

"I know exactly what you mean," Blair said. And he did. Daryl was nineteen, and had to resent the way his mother had still thought of him as being too young to - well, deal with life. As being not old enough to be able to handle the unpleasant things life could throw at anyone. Just as Blair himself resented the way his mother had believed that he was totally able to look after himself, once he was five years old.

"It can't always be easy for parents," he went on. "Sometimes they treat us the same way they were treated when they were young. Sometimes they treat us in totally the opposite way. And can I suggest... "

"Yes?"

"Give your Dad a chance. He mightn't have agreed with your Mom that you were too young to deal with things, but loved her enough not to disagree with her."

Daryl pulled a little away, and Blair let him go. "Do you know where Dad is?"

"I understand he's tied up at the hospital. I said I'd keep you here until he could come for you, or take you home if that was more convenient for him. And no, that's not babying you. I'd do it for anyone in your position, whatever their age."

"But you have your own work... "

"Just office hours, and until I hand out the results for that last paper nobody is really likely to want to see me. Your paper... Can I suggest you take some time to redo it, hand it in to me before the holidays if you can, and if not, the day we come back after the holidays."

"I should manage it before, now that... now that I know what was wrong - unless Dad needs me."

Blair nodded mentally. Daryl had a sense of responsibility that probably nobody in his family had appreciated. Well, maybe his father would, now.

"Anything else you'd like to say?" Blair asked.

Daryl shook his head. "If... if you give me some paper and a pencil, I'll make a start on redoing that paper."

***

About half an hour later there was a gentle tap on the door, it opened and Detective Ellison came back in, followed by a slightly taller man who, Blair guessed, was Daryl's father. The assumption was instantly confirmed when Daryl jumped up. "Dad!" He rushed over and his father caught him in a firm hug.

"I'm sorry, son. We should have told you - "

"You would have told me. I know it was Mom who wouldn't let you. She never really saw me as grown up, did she?"

"Not really." He raised his head and looked at Blair. "Thank you. Jim told me you... "

Blair smiled. "It gave Daryl a chance to talk out his feelings with someone who wasn't personally involved. Meanwhile, can I just say I'm sorry for your loss. Now you take Daryl home. Daryl, don't forget that rewrite you began."

Daryl crossed back to the desk, picked up the paper he'd been writing on, folded it and pushed it into his pocket, whispering, "Thank you!" He went back to his father and they walked out.

"How is Daryl doing?" Jim asked after a few seconds.

"Probably doing better than his father," Blair said. "He resented being 'protected' from life, and knew it was his mother's doing. As long as his father doesn't try to - well, baby him the way his mother did, he should be all right."

"It'll take Simon a while to get over it," Jim said. "But if Daryl can be strong for him - "

"I think he can be," Blair said.

"And he'll get a lot of support at work," Jim added. He hesitated for a moment. "Meanwhile... I've taken a little time to look at that book of yours... and I think I'd like to discuss some of the things in it with you..."

TBC

 

 

 


End file.
